To Need You
by DarkTropicalKing
Summary: One-Shot. In which a young Harry obsess about the only 'good' person left in his childhood, Petunia. Definitely AU, with some themes of dark!Harry, manipulative!Harry, evil!Harry, and mature themes. You have been warned.


Disclaimer: J. owns the world of HP, not I.

* * *

"Aunt Petunia, what are we having for lunch?"

There is no such thing as an evil child.

Petunia would have laughed, had she heard someone say that now. Potter was evil, of that there was no doubt. He was the devil incarnate taking on the form of an angel.

Bright green eyes peer at her beneath wire rimmed glasses. For all intents and purposes, the boy sitting on the counter, casually swinging his legs as he watched her prepare the food in the kitchen, appeared normal. He had an unruly mop of dark hair, a surprisingly slender figure, and pale unblemished skin. But the most startling feature of his were his brilliant ivy green eyes, which were currently watching her intently as she struggled not to shake.

Petunia hated his stare. She hated how weak she felt when he looked at her like that, as though she was the world to him. Most of all, she hated how he thought and believed he **cared** for her.

She supposes the horror all began when she was nice to him and it cost her, a mistake she now regretted.

And yet…

She couldn't find it in herself to hate the boy.

It was not the fact that he seemed to have some hold over her, nor even that despite everything some small part of her cared for him. Really, the reason was mundane and unexpected.

He was all she had left.

Dudley hated her, and wanted nothing to do with her. He blamed her for the divorce, you see, and had made that abundantly clear when aunt Marge had come to take him away.

* * *

Harry had seen her cry, once before. When he was five, Dudley had gotten into an accident and broken his arm while at school. He had been rushed to the hospital, and aunt Petunia had not hesitated to leave Harry all by himself while she rushed to be with her son. He clearly remembered the expression on her face, one of absolute horror, when she received the call. For some reason he had not been able to get that expression out of his head.

When she came back she had been unusually quiet, preparing food for the two of them. Harry had been warily curious, for she had said nothing at all. Not even had she scolded him when he made an accidental mess on the dinner table. Instead, she had looked at him vacantly, not really seeing him and muttered that it was fine.

Later, he had woken up from a strange dream. Disorientated and confused. Until he heard it.

Choked sobs, coming from downstairs.

Curiosity had overtaken him then, and he made his way to the living room. She was sitting on one of the couches, arms wrapped tightly around her bony knees and hugging her chest. She had been rocking to and fro, sobbing and lost in her own thoughts. So lost in-fact, that she did not notice him even as he stood next to her, watching.

It was only when he spoke that she started.

"Aunt Petunia, are you okay?"

She looked at him then. Really looked at him, as though she was seeing him for the first time in her life. Harry had been worried that she would shout at him, tell him to mind his own business, or just plain ignored him.

Instead, and to his surprise, she gave him a shaky but genuine smile and nodded. She told him she was fine, and that he should get back to bed, with a hand gently placed on his unruly curls.

Harry had been conflicted then. On the one hand it would have been best to follow her instructions, and not incur the risk of her wrath. On the other there had been a strange feeling budding in his chest. A voice in his head told him that she **needed** him, and that he couldn't leave her like this.

So, with some hesitation he had come closer, and tentatively wrapped his small hands around her in a silent hug. She froze for a while (enough for him to start getting second thoughts) but then she had wrapped her own hands around him, pulling him closer to her chest and resting her chin on-top his head.

They had stayed like that, her crying into his hair and him awkwardly comforting her. Eventually, when her sobs had tapered off, Petunia had sent him off to bed. He had hesitated. Then she had truly smiled at him, thanking him and telling him not to worry about her. She had given him an unbroken chocolate cookie to encourage his movements.

A warm feeling had spread through his body at that and as his head hit his pillow, he had idly thought about how nice it had been to have her attention on him. As his eyes began closing sleepily, a last thought had flashed through his mind.

 _Wouldn't if be nice if she needed him more?_

* * *

Harry was not a bad kid.

All he had wanted growing up was a family that loved and cared for him.

Unfortunately, he had had to content with the Dursleys.

To be clear, they had never physically abused him, aside from the odd shoves from uncle Vernon and the beatings from Dudley (which didn't count). Rather, it was their emotional abuse and neglect that had gotten to him. How they lavished all their attention on Dudley, particularly in his presence, as though to tell him that he was not one of them and that he would never be. It was the ignored birthdays, the second-hand clothing, the missed family outings.

When he was three, Harry found a dog that was dying in the park. The poor thing had had its legs and lower chest mauled off by other stray dogs. Harry had just squatted near the creature, silent, as he watched the poor thing struggle to breathe. He showed no signs when the creature breathed its last, an indifferent curiosity on his face. Afterwards, he went and bought ice cream with the Dursleys.

When Harry was four, Jonathan, a class bully, had pushed him around all day. Saying that he was a freak, that he should have died, that his mother was a freak, that he was weak and pathetic. Harry took it all quietly, never saying anything, even when his eyes overflowed with tears. Later Jonathan was found horribly mutilated, unable to speak and with his face twisted as though it had been burnt.

At five years old, Harry was already a studious child. Petunia had originally prevented him from watching TV and assumed that no harm would come from the boy reading. How wrong she was. When Harry threatened them with knowledge he had gained from a book, she knew she had made a mistake.

When Harry was seven, he would often visit the public library near his school. When asked why, when the school library was available, he would just shrug and say the public library was better and had more books. Nothing had connected him to the assault on Jonathan, and the kids had continued to bully him. They called him names and mocked his love of reading and the public library. They pushed him around, and still- silent - he let them. Now, Harry had been begrudgingly given a present for his seventh birthday, an access card that allowed him to borrow books from the library.

As some of his other classmates messed with him, one of them had flushed his access card down the toilet. Harry had looked at them then, a glare so cold and hateful that they grew afraid. One of the teachers found them later in the toilets, attracted to their screams. Some where in the corners, screaming about ghosts and shadows, others were as though they were soulless, others still had been rendered mute. When asked, no one said a thing. But from that day on, they avoided Potter like a plague. Petunia had suspicions, nothing provable of course, but she had been certain Harry had had something to do with the incident.

The day word had got out that Petunia was divorced must have been one of the worst days in her life. It was all the rage in town, and Petunia found herself compared to Vernon's previous wife behind her back. Harry, of course, noticed all these things. Especially so when as they went shopping one day and a woman made a particularly snide remark to Petunia. Harry had glared at the woman, but before anything could happen, his aunt had grabbed his hand and taken them away. Forgetting their groceries in the process. That night saw Petunia crying, when she thought everyone had gone to bed.

Almost overnight, the rumours stopped. It was as though everyone had stopped caring what had happened. If Petunia had thought about it, she would have been suspicious, but the thought conveniently left her mind.

There were more strange things after that, of course, but Harry was a strange kid. He was no longer as quiet as he had been, and he always seemed to greet everyone he met with a sweet smile. No one noticed, instead cooing over how well-behaved, how well-mannered, how polite, how charming, and how handsome he was.

There were still the unexplained fires, the animal deaths, the recent rise in snake activity, the fact that his classmates seemed to fear him, and more.

The day he received his letter was a day like any other day. It was his birthday, and Petunia had gone out to buy him cake. An owl tapping his window was strange but Harry had shrugged it off. When finally he opened the window to see what was going on and a letter had been dropped on his bedroom floor, he had been mildly curious. He eyed the envelope with disinterest, only opening it when he saw his name written on the front, and quickly skimmed through its contents.

He should have been happy. He had magic.

He should have been satisfied. He had always known he was special.

He should have been curious. He was only eleven.

Not showing a hint of any emotion, he penned a reply.

He was not going.

Two days later a man who was taller than he might have imagined, and an old man with a twinkle in his eye knocked on their doors looking for all of the world like they had just come out of a Halloween party.

Harry had looked at them with blank eyes and politely invited them in, acting for all the world like it was a common occurrence.

* * *

 **Here goes an idea I've been mulling with in my head. In this world, a simple act of kindness (and Voldemort's soul) lead Harry down a path of darkness and power.**


End file.
